


morkles is a clown

by kloseted



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but really brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:46:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kloseted/pseuds/kloseted
Summary: Mark Lee really loves his boyfriend.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 6
Kudos: 190





	morkles is a clown

**Author's Note:**

> I’m projecting onto Mark again...haha...also pls ignore the title idk what to do with it.

Mark Lee is truly, honestly, hopelessly in love with his boyfriend. It’s a little silly how much he is. 

He must’ve done something amazing in his past life to earn the affection of _the_ Johnny Suh. Okay, so, _maybe_ he’s pushing it. But, out of so many other stunning, functioning, normal people; Mark still can’t fathom that Johnny likes him. Like. He likes him enough to hug him and kiss him and willingly call Mark his _boyfriend_. Yeah, Mark has to have saved an entire village. Or, saved a dying species. Either one gave him the one (of several) people that make the world worth living in.

Maybe he’s laying it on a little thick but Johnny is probably everyone’s dream. In high school, he was often the center of the conversation about him or with him. And honestly, Mark couldn’t blame them. Standing a couple of inches over six feet, with a voice like melted butter and wit sharper than knives—it’s probably natural that Johnny was (and still is) so popular. A direct contrast to Mark who’s a little _too_ talkative, far too clumsy, and still unable to tell the difference between a joke and sarcasm.

He should be trying to get his coursework done; the blank space underneath the paragraph of his English prompt staring back at him. But, Johnny texted him twenty minutes earlier about bringing takeout and now his mind is drifting to food. He’s not even really hungry, but he’d very much like a distraction from homework. However, he’d also like to _do_ it. Why doesn’t he have two brains? One to think about homework and food for the other. Maybe humans should evolve even further and get _two_ brains. 

He’s so focused on whatever idea pops into his head, he doesn’t register the front door opening and a bundled up Johnny walking in; carrying a couple of plastic bags in his gloved hand. Johnny doesn’t say anything. He guesses Mark must be focusing really hard if he’s glaring at his laptop. 

With light steps, Johnny heads to the kitchen first to set the bags down on the countertop. Then, steps back into the small living room to hang his winter coat up in the even tinier closet. He mentally hits himself, forgetting to take his boots off at the space near the door. When he drops them near the rest of their neatly lined up sneakers and other shoewear, he hears a loud groan and he makes his way back.

“Homework’s difficult?” Johnny asks, taking a seat next to Mark. 

Mark nods. “Homework’s _dumb_ , more like it.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gonna hurt its feelings.”

“It’s not human, how could I do that?”

With a push of air through his nose, Johnny chuckles at the response. He decides to change topics. “Wanna eat?”

“Yessss,” Mark drawls, shutting his laptop and sliding it underneath a pillow. “I’ll get the tables.”

Johnny hums and gets up to get their food while Mark scurries over to the corner of the room where two wooden foldable tables are wedged between the couch and their crowded bookshelf. Which is less a bookshelf and more of a shelf for Mark’s growing collection of anime figures. He figured out how to work Netflix and Hulu and any impulse buying has gone to the shiny new Funko Pops and few nendoroids. 

He’s careful not to knock anything over as he pulls the tables out of the small space, eyes flitting from the slightly shaking shelf and back to his hands. With a sigh of relief, Mark manages to get them out and one by one sets them up in front of the loveseat.

Johnny returns with two styrofoam containers of food balanced on top of each other and cans of soda sitting on top of them. Mark snorts at the ridiculously exaggerated face of focus Johnny puts on while balancing everything on one hand. He gives light applause as Johnny puts everything down on the table with a flourish, bowing low and waving to his imaginary audience. 

Dinner is more or less watching Catfish and Mark flapping excitedly after a few bites of chicken he takes. It’s definitely been a while since he’s had some. They live off mostly ramen cups and the occasional recipes off the internet that include mac and cheese, different kinds of rice and noodles. 

Both of them wait until the end of the episode to start cleaning up. Mark pouts because that means he has to stop scratching at the knee of Johnny’s jeans; the feeling nice against his fingernails. 

“I’ll be in the shower,” Johnny tells him, squeezing Mark’s hand. 

He tries not to sound upset. “Okay.”

It’s his week to do dishes, so as Johnny heads off to the shower, he takes their empty containers, saves the plastic forks, and drops their empty cans in the recycling bag which is just a plastic bag from the grocery store they frequent. The bag hangs from one loop around a chip bag clip. 

He’s only got the dishes from breakfast to wash—Johnny made pancakes and eggs which is tradition for their Friday mornings. Mark slides his blue rubber gloves over his hands and rubs his fingers together for a moment before going to work. He’s careful not to bang any of the pans together since the loud sounds makes his ears ring and then he’s got this odd itchy feeling afterwards which _suuuuucks_.

By the time he’s done, the water from the shower turns off and Mark knows Johnny’s routine well enough that he’ll be there brushing, flossing, and drying his hair. So he takes that time to actually, _finally_ start working on his English prompt. It’s due in a couple hours so he might as well. 

  
  


  * •



Mark tries not to laugh when he gets out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He can see Johnny sitting _next_ to the bed, on the floor, with a textbook open and littered with colorful sticky notes that look muted underneath the dim floor lamp. He’s sitting on the other side of the bed so Mark can only see the back of his head. Johnny’s probably got his airpods in (Mark’s birthday gift to him which was definitely worth every cent seeing his boyfriend tear up over the engraving on the case. It’s cheesy but the _M ♡ J_ was really simple and cute _._ ) because he hasn’t turned around hearing the door open. 

So Mark makes himself comfortable on the bed, puts his phone on the charger and plays a cute little cookie game. He does that for a while until he grows tired and sets it down to let his eyes wander. His guitar is leaning against the wall and he stares at it with heavy eyelids. He holds his arm out and drops it with a grunt when his body refuses to cooperate.

He’s sleeping until he feels the bed dip and then his eyes open wide. With a turn of his head he sees Johnny’s blurry and dark figure moving around. 

“Scared me,” Mark mumbles, turning his body to face his boyfriend.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Johnny says, sitting on his knees and looking down at Mark. He blinks slowly as Johnny drums his fingers over the blanket. Mark likes the soft yet firm sound it makes. “Hugging, okay?” Johnny asks with a hopeful lilt in his voice. 

Mark nods. “It’s okay.”

He giggles when Johnny drapes himself over his front, hair tickling his chin and arms wrapping underneath his torso. Mark spreads his legs to accommodate Johnny’s own and he places his own hand in Johnny’s hair. He’s been using that conditioner that makes it feel like silk and Mark really likes how his fingers glide right through the locks. 

He’s content listening to Johnny breathe and hug him until his brain decides to bring up what’s been bugging him for a while. He tries to stop it because he doesn’t want to talk when it’s time to sleep, time to just cuddle but his mouth is already moving. 

“Sorry!” he blurts out, making Johnny jump.

It’s too loud in the silence of the room and his ears feel like they’ve been pinched and pulled. The calm air ruined by his stupid mouth and too fast brain. 

“Why are you apologizing?” Johnny murmurs against his shoulder. 

“I didn’t say anything when you got home and I felt mean,” Mark explains. “It was really cold outside and you brought food without gloves—plus I accidentally stole your scarf this morning and I didn’t say “hi” when you came in, so…” 

He wants to stop talking so bad. His brain feels like every word he speaks pierces his mind like a knife along with the guilt running through his veins and into his blood. 

“I don’t know. I feel mean. Feel gross, I guess.”

Even when he stops talking his words whirl around in his head like a blender without the seal. It’s just making a big mess. 

“Is hugging okay?” Johnny repeats. 

“Yes, but talking really fucking hurts.”

He feels silly. Something so trivial as a missed greeting is gonna make him have a meltdown in the middle of the night. They’re both gonna lose sleep because Mark can’t just shut up and now he’s gonna cry. 

He feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he’s pulled up into a sitting position; Johnny’s arms strong while the rest of his body feels like jelly. 

With hands gripping Johnny’s night shirt probably a little too tightly and turning his own knuckles white. 

It’s right on the edge of overcoming him and making him breakdown. But, Johnny’s pulling him close, adding more weight to his already heavy hoodie and Mark squeezes his eyes shut and tries to fall deep into the pressure. 

They stay tangled up for what seems like hours. Mark gasping and hiccuping with breaths that hurt his chest and tighten up his throat. 

He goes limp after some time, breathing evening out and finally releasing his death-grip on Johnny. 

“I’m fine,” Mark breathes out, sliding his hands into his lap and pulling at his shaky fingers. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb. 

“Do you want your blanket?” Johnny whispers. 

Mark shakes his head. “No. You’re heavier than the blanket, so you can replace it.”

Johnny scoffs. “Rude, Mr. Lee.”

“I’m just sayin’, dude,” Mark tells him, a small smile spreading onto his face. “I don’t think I’ll need it anymore.”

“Mean.”

“My bad.”

With a heavy sigh, Johnny gently knocks his forehead against Mark’s own.

“You can say it now, though.”

Mark pulls back to look at his fuzzy face. “Say what?”

“Say hi. Duh,” Johnny replies matter-of-factly.

Mark raises his eyebrows and can see Johnny raise them back, but even higher. What a clown. 

“You’re dumb,” Mark says, pulling them back down against the mattress much to Johnny’s surprise. “But, hi, I guess.”

“Feel better, right? Ehh? Ehhh?” Johnny questions with wiggling eyebrows.

With the back of his palm, Mark stifles a laugh before thinking it over. He won’t lie, Johnny always makes the effort to take his mind off of things. He does feel better. Exhausted, but lighter. “Yeah, I think so. I feel better. Thanks.”

“Yeah, I’m a genius.”

“Go to sleep, John.”

“I love yew, Mork Leeeee.” With fat kisses to his face and fingers linking together with his own, Mark is too sleepy and easily flustered to deal with this. 

He covers his face with his free hand to block the rest of the incoming affection. “Oh my God! I...I love you too. Can you please—Johnny that tickles!”

  
  



End file.
